


I Never Realized I Loved You

by twoknifes



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: But Before S108 Much More, But He Gets Better, Geralt is Geralt, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Apologizes, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Bad at Feelings, Getting Back Together, Hurt/Comfort, Jaskier is Thriving, M/M, Set Sometime After S106 Rare Species
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:49:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22294333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twoknifes/pseuds/twoknifes
Summary: Months after their parting, a chance encounter allows Jaskier and Geralt to come face to face with each other.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 20
Kudos: 383





	I Never Realized I Loved You

After months of moping around and feeling sorry for himself, Jaskier had woken up one day and declared himself wholly and completely over Geralt. He decided that enough was enough and that he couldn’t just keep jumping from tavern to tavern, earning only a meager amount of coin and singing the same recycled material, just because it reminded him, however distantly, of traveling with the Witcher. He was going to do something with his skills, become somebody, instead of just being “the Witcher’s Bard”.

Somehow, just speaking that into existence made him actually do it. He stopped going to those blink-and-you’ll-miss-it towns that no one had ever heard of and started going to cities with more renown.

He began to play for kings and queens and dukes and duchesses, eventually landing himself the favor of a lovely Countess whose name he hadn’t originally heard of but soon became the envy of all the courts, thanks to his marvelous performances.

Life was good, mostly. His heart healed, but it healed like a bone that hadn’t been set properly, just a little bit off. Any and all thoughts of Geralt had been pushed to the farthest recesses of his mind, only to be remembered on particularly lonely nights, of which became less and less as time passed.

-

Right now, Jaskier found himself doing what he was always doing these days: entertaining the Countess’ court at a ball. It seemed like one of the Countess’ closest friend had recently become engaged and so she decided to throw a days long celebration for her. 

He was absently playing a catchy little jig about a fisherman and his boat, thinking about how uninspired his latest material was. A fisherman and his boat? It certainly seemed like a new favorite (all his songs were) among the audience, but he couldn’t help but notice how empty he felt as he sang the verses. Usually he didn’t feel like this until it was a song that was worn out, but this one? “The Fisherman’s Failures”? Why, he had only finished penning it down last week! Nevertheless, he continued to go along with his performance, not letting anyone have even the slightest inkling at what was going on inside his head.

After the song was done, Jaskier quickly excused himself from the festivities (much to the dismay of the party-goers), saying something along the lines of how he needed to rest his voice if he was to continue entertaining for the remaining couple of days of the celebration. On his way to his chambers, many partygoers still tried to convince him to keep singing, just one more song, but strangely Jaskier felt completely drained after only a handful of songs, “Come on, bard, sing the one about the maiden in the woods. Me and the wife love that one!”

“Ah, I wish I could, but I simply must get some rest, else I might strain myself., and that wouldn’t do! Especially on the first day of Countess Jagienka’s festival.” Jaskier shook his head in what he tried to make look like genuine concern and did his best to not accidentally bump into anyone else.

He lay in his bed, most of his clothing already discarded as he stripped to his smallclothes, staring up at the ceiling trying (failing) to put a name to that hollowness he felt when he sang his newest song. Whenever he sang a song for the first time, especially one as well received as “The Fisherman’s Failures”, he would feel nothing short of ecstatic at the praise showered upon him and the coins tossed his way.

After stewing on that train of thought for a while and reaching no conclusion, Jaskier decided to simply sleep, hoping that some rest would be all he needed to chase away that weird feeling.

-

The rest didn’t help. In fact, nothing did. Not meditating, not seeking out stories from other, not looking at things from a new perspective, not even bedding a lover! And it only got worse. For every new song he sang, the hollowness in his chest would only grow. It eventually got to the point that even while he was just composing the songs, he felt nothing. The material was boring. Actually, his whole life was boring. His days were a never-ending cycle of mundanity. From the moment he woke up to the moment he went to sleep, he knew exactly what to expect. In the beginning, he quite liked the monotony. It had been a fresh change of pace from the chaos and panic that he grew accustomed to while traveling with the Witcher. And then without him realizing it, he had grown tired of knowing what came next. If Jaskier looked ahead enough, he could see exactly what tomorrow would bring, and what next week would bring, and what even the next year would bring: Wake up, perform some songs, shag a pretty little thing or two, go to bed, and then do it all again the next day.

When he was finally at his wits’ end, the Countess herself (bless her), as if reading his thoughts said, “Jaskier, are you all right?” He looked at her with wide eyes and was met with a slightly pitying brown-eyed stare. Just as he was opening his mouth to reply, she continued, “It’s just… Well, whenever you perform lately, you’re somewhere else. Don’t get me wrong, your performances are great, but your eyes… You’re a million miles away.” She placed her hand upon his, in the same way a mother might, to console a child.

“I don’t- I mean, I- No, no, I’ve just had a lot on my mind recently is all.” How had she noticed? He thought he was doing a great job of hiding his emotions but not good enough it seemed.

“Well, I do hope you’re able to get it all sorted soon, dear bard.” She smiled sweetly at him, “It would be a shame if someone of your talents was dragged down because of some silly thoughts.” She was right, of course. Jaskier was allowing his personal thoughts to permeate his performances, like an amateur. Singing and playing was meant to be done with a singular focus and he couldn’t allow his mind to stray while he was on stage. 

After that conversation, Jaskier decided that he would focus on the present, on what happened around him, even if it was the same thing he saw every day.

-

For the first time in a while, Geralt was able to get a restful sleep. No annoying bard complaining about how the night was too cold or how the ground was too hard. Just a Witcher and his horse, on the Path.

Geralt ignored the small voice in the back of his mind, telling him that he’d been cruel and that he should apologize.

-

The voice got louder.

He tried to distract himself with as many jobs as he could find, and it did quiet the voice, but only for as long as he was in the heat of battle. When he would set up camp in the woods, far enough from any town so as not to accidentally overhear any bards in taverns (listening to their melodious voices and their delicate strumming only made it worse), the little voice became a screaming in his ear.

How could you have been so cruel, Witcher? The voice sounded a lot like Borch. You and I both know it wasn’t the bard you were mad at, only at destiny and at yourself.

Geralt rolled over and covered his ears with his hands, but the voice, being that it came from inside himself, seemed not to care. You’ve been so lonely without him, Witcher. Don’t try to deny it. It seemed like tonight was another one of those nights were Geralt wouldn’t be getting any sleep. He got up, grabbed his sword and began to train, hoping to tire himself out to the point of exhaustion. Unluckily, Witchers had quite a bit of stamina. He trained and trained, going through the same motions taught to him so many years ago at Kaer Morhen. 

With how often this seemed to happen lately, Geralt had never been in better shape to fight monsters.

As night became day, and the sun began to rise, the Witcher finally took better notice of his surroundings. The clearing he’d decided to camp in was actually a field of wildflowers, namely dandelions. He felt an emotion he decided to ignore and set up camp elsewhere.

-

The months blurred together like that. The continent was never safer than in those few months that Geralt took any and all jobs, no matter how difficult or how bad the pay.

Eventually his travels took him to a humble city near the coast, Jaskier mentioned the coast, and into the court of a Countess Jagienka.

“Ah, Witcher! We are so glad you’re here. You must have heard of our recent troubles with some wargs that have decided to roam our woods.” The Witcher was not surprised at the warm welcome he received. Thanks to Jaskier, most people’s thoughts on Witchers had taken a turn for the better.

“Hm.” He grunted. Geralt hadn’t heard of the wargs actually—he was just here searching for any job he could find.

She detailed the job and the woods and the forest, much of which Geralt didn’t care about. He only needed to be pointed in the direction of them and he’d take care of it. He listened to her speak anyway, “It’s been such a dreadful affair having them here. Just last week I threw a party for my friend, Lady Wanda, and she almost lost her life going back to her estate! Luckily, I had the foresight to have her escorted by a group of my best guards, as well as her own, but they still only barely managed to fight them back!” She continued on for some time like that before she got down to the aspect of payment, “Of course, to get this dealt with as soon as possible, we’re sparing no expense! My dear friend has been locked up in a room I have given her, and I want her to be rid of this fear and let her get a good night’s rest. Do you have some sort of remedy for that?” The Countess prattled on and on and Geralt was reminded of a certain bard he’d traveled with that used to talk unendingly. He would usually be annoyed at someone babbling, but right now he welcomed it for some reason.

-

It hadn’t been a complicated job, wargs usually weren’t, but it had been tedious. It seemed that there was a multitude of warg packs settling themselves around these woods, but they were all felled by Geralt in the end. 

At the end of it all, Geralt felt a pleasant ache in his muscles and bones. One that promised a quick, dreamless sleep.

-

When he went back to the Countess to report having taken care of the issue, she immediately rejoiced, “Oh, that’s simply wonderful, Witcher! I shall be throwing a party in your honor.” Without listening to Geralt’s opinion, she began to order people to begin the necessary preparations. Then, as if she’d forgotten, she turned to Geralt, “Right, your payment! A servant will come down with the coins later tonight, so please come by then.”

-

Jaskier stared at the empty page before him. He’d been like this for weeks now. He stared and stared as if willing words to appear, but the page stayed empty, save for the growing spot of ink where he held his quill to the parchment. Sometimes he could get a verse or two out, but today nothing came. When it seemed that the page would stay empty, Jaskier balled it up and threw it behind him, into a startlingly large pile of crumpled up sheets.

He was about to give up, when there was a knocking on his door, “Yes, you may come in.”

It opened to reveal a young servant girl with a pretty face. “The Countess has need of your performance tonight. She’s declared there to be a party and wants you to impress the people.” She winced as she said the next few words, “She wants you to sing a new song.” At this point, everyone in the estate knew something was wrong with the bard. Since that last conversation with the Countess, Jaskier hadn’t been able to compose a new song. It seemed she had finally grown tired of the same tunes.

“A new song? Yes, I, uh, I shall definitely deliver.” He tried to sound as confident as possible, but the servant didn’t look like she believed him. He couldn’t blame her, “Now, um, please leave me as I need to, um, put the finishing touches on this piece.” Jaskier gently guided her out of the room and just barely managed to not slam the door in her face. 

Fuck. A new song? A new song? He could definitely do that! He was Jaskier! Master Bard! A quick new song, even if it wasn’t his best would be easy for him, right? Except that, no, “even if it wasn’t his best” was not how Jaskier did things. Every song he composed had to be no less than perfect when he revealed it—his pride wouldn’t allow him to do anything halfway. So there he sat, strumming his lute, thinking of how the hell he was going to be able to deliver a new song without actually having one.

-

Geralt hated parties. The last one he was forced to attend, You went willingly, Witcher, ended with him getting a child, something that he was still not ready to come to terms with.

Still. A party meant food. Entertainment. Also, he had yet to collect his payment. So off to the Countess’ estate he went, if begrudgingly. 

When he arrived, he was immediately ushered to a table filled with food, so he had no complaints. An instrumental band played all throughout the event. The long tables were arranged in a semi-circle around the Countess’ throne, with enough space between everyone so that a performer could walk around comfortably in front of everyone. He sat directly in front of the Countess and ate so that his mouth was always full, which meant that any attempts to talk to him were limited. Eventually the Countess stood and gave a speech on how thankful she was for the Witcher and how he would always be welcome in her court. Once she was done, she called forth the entertainers, which were many. From table to table, people drifted, seeing the fire eaters, the sword swallowers, the fortune tellers, the jugglers… It seemed that the Countess had spared no expense and had every type of performer available. Geralt couldn’t help but notice that he, thankfully, had yet to see a—

“—bard!” Damn. “For the last performance of the night, I have decided to give you all a special treat! My own personal bard shall sing a new, original piece for you all tonight.” She raised a goblet of wine and motioned for someone to come in, revealing—

-

“Bard, it’s time.” The same servant girl from earlier came to get him.

“What, already?” He thought he’d have more time! More time to do what, he’s not sure, as he still has no idea what to perform. Jaskier rifled through his papers, searching desperately for any piece he’d overlooked or maybe forgotten about (impossible, he knew all his pieces by heart). He completely forgot about the fact that he was supposed to perform right at that moment as he looked for anything that might help.

“Jaskier! Come on! Don’t leave the Countess waiting. You know how she gets when she loses her patience, and I don’t want to get in trouble because of you!” The girl looked at him pleadingly and Jaskier sighed and resigned himself to his fate.

“Well, there’s no use delaying it any longer, I suppose.” Even while he said that, Jaskier planned to sing some of his old songs to buy himself some time and hoped that everyone would be too drunk by the end of the night to remember what he was supposed to be doing.

He breathed in deeply and walked out to perform.

-

Time seemed to stop, as cornflower blue eyes met cat-like gold. “My dear Countess!” Jaskier turned to her, “You should have told me we were to be graced by the company of a Witcher! I would have prepared accordingly.” By running far, far away.

“Ah, Jaskier, this was meant to be as much a surprise for him as it was for you! I seem to remember you having travelled with a white haired, golden eyed Witcher, and when he came to my door at the same time as the wargs appeared, I thought destiny herself had conspired to bring you two together!” She looked at Jaskier with such earnest joy that he couldn’t fault her for this. Destiny, though…

“But, of course, Countess, and how I must thank you for allowing old friends,” He hoped no one noticed how his voice broke at the word, “to reunite! To destiny!” He raised a goblet of wine that he didn’t notice where he took it from and downed it immediately, hoping that the alcohol would lessen his ability to exist for the night.

Then, Jaskier, a master performer, did what he did best and sang.

-

There was a certain truth to the rumor that Witchers couldn’t feel. The mutation hadn’t gotten rid of their emotions, just muted them generally, except for the emotions that could get in the way of a fight. Fear, hesitation, cowardice, doubt, all these were gone. But as Geralt sat there, staring at the bard who stared back at him, he did, in fact, feel fear.

Geralt had done so well to avoid the bard all these months. Any time he so much as caught a whiff of chamomile, he turned tail and ran in the opposite direction. But in the cities, in this estate, there were so many people, so many different smells and sounds that he couldn’t pinpoint the smell of chamomile or the tell-tale beating of a heart so familiar to him. 

Chamomile that grew acidic as it mixed with fear and a beating that grew rapid with panic.

Geralt didn’t listen to the short exchange between the bard and the Countess, to focused on the fact that Jaskier was really here to do more than sit there, stunned. Now’s your chance, Witcher. And when did the voice in his head stop sounding like Borch and start sounding like Geralt?

Jaskier, seemingly oblivious to Geralt’s internal panic, turned to the audience, never once locking eyes with the Witcher, and said, “The Countess has asked for a new song, and a new song you all shall get! But first, I’ll play some of my best songs to work our way up to the magnificence that is my latest composition.” Somewhere in the back of his mind, Geralt could tell that the bard was lying through his teeth, but he paid that no mind. The bard began to play and all the feelings and thoughts Geralt had been trying so hard to bury deep within himself were threatening to spill out. Despite the fear he felt, the Witcher couldn’t help but feel relaxed as Jaskier’s voice washed over him. Had it really been that long? Geralt could try to tell himself that he forgot what the bard sounded like, but he knew it was a lie. I missed you, Jaskier. The Witcher didn’t even care that the song was some stupid diddy about a king who died—all that mattered was that it was Jaskier singing it and so it was one of the best songs he’d ever heard.

He listened intently to each and every song, his fear ebbing away as his guilt grew at what he’d said to the bard, so long ago. Damnit, Jaskier! Why is it whenever I find myself in a pile of shit these days, it’s you, shoveling it?

Geralt closed his eyes and imagined himself back out on the Path, Jaskier at his side, and if he thought hard enough, he could almost pretend that’s where they were right now, and that the Withcer had never pushed him away.

His musings were interrupted as someone or other interrupted Jaskier with a, “Hey, now that the Witcher’s here, why don’t you sing the one about tossing him a coin?” And as Jaskier finished up the last song, he turned to that man and, with a furious smile nodded and looked right at Geralt.

“Actually, I have a better idea. I think it’s high time I showed you all my latest song, yeah?” The crowd cheered and he started to sing.

-

When he started his first song, Jaskier felt so nervous he thought his legs would give out. But as the night went on, he started to really look at Geralt, who seemed to be completely entranced by him. Eventually, it got to the point where Geralt actually looked happy and even serene, which just wasn’t fair, just like what Geralt had said to him that say hadn’t been fair. If Jaskier had to go through the night suffering every word, suffering every time he spared a glance at the Witcher, the Witcher would have to suffer too. And so, as “Toss a Coin” was requested, he blurted out to Geralt mostly that it was time for his newest composition, without really knowing what he would do.

When he played the first chords, the words flowed out of him as though they had a mind of their own,

“You beg for a blessing

As though I’m your curse.”

If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands! That’s what Geralt had said. Jaskier had gone, just like he’d asked. And now Geralt was here, so he would have to listen to Jaskier’s piece whether he liked it or not.

“Of all things you’ve said, 

This one hurts the worst.”

When Geralt launched those words at him, Jaskier felt a small piece of him break.

“You never noticed

How hard I tried.”

All those lonely, one-sided conversations, with Geralt only supplying a, “Hm.” Or, if he was lucky a, “Shut up, Jaskier.”

“I’d have done anything

To stay by your side.”

Jaskier took every insult, every gripe, with a smile on his face, because he enjoyed being with the Witcher. Fine, he loved being with the Witcher. Aside from their parting, his time spent with the other man had been some of the best times of his life. So he left, hoping (even if he knew it wouldn’t happen) that Geralt would chase after him, would apologize, and that they could both pretend that it never happened. See you around, Geralt. He sang a few more stanzas until he reached the end,

“So, I shall go where I am wanted

And will no longer be left wanting

I am through with all my longing

I gave you so much for nothing

At all.”

At those last words, he stared right at Geralt and let out a choked sob as the audience erupted into cheers, with the Countess congratulating him in a rushed way, as if realizing what happened, “Another amazing ballad from our bard, Jaskier. Now, he has been singing the whole night, we should let him rest, yes?” Without waiting for a reply, she ordered the servants to usher Jaskier away, and then she faced Geralt with a practiced mask to hide her fury.

-

Geralt could smell her anger as though she had slapped him with it, “Witcher. I think it’s about time you left.” She had a smile on her face, but she ordered her most heavily armed guards to escort Geralt out of her estate, rather brusquely. The Witcher took no offense to this, realizing that, yes, he probably deserves this.

Once he was out of the estate grounds, the guards regarded him with a confused stare and said, “Don’t know what you did, but I think the Countess’ open invitation has been rescinded.”

“Hm,” was all he said. He stood there for a while, until he remembered, he never actually apologized to Jaskier, “Fuck.”

-

Geralt was a man made for fighting, but he could sneak around when he wanted to as well. He waited until most of the noise of the party died down and went around the guards to find Jaskier. Now that there were less people around (and he was conscious that Jaskier was here), it was very easy to track down the bard to his quarters, a room on a second floor, with a large window overlooking the gardens. He climbed the wall with ease and, even though the window was of stained glass and it was hard to see through, he could hear Jaskier yelling and throwing things inside.

-

Even though Jaskier had finally said his piece to Geralt, it still felt like his heart had been ripped open once again, “Fuck! Fuck you, Geralt!” He threw some things at a wall as he yelled, taking care to not throw anything actually breakable, “Why couldn’t you just leave me alone? Why couldn’t you just fuck off to the other side of the continent and leave me in peace?” Once he ran out of things to throw, he slumped against a wall and held his head in his hands, “Why do you get to be okay when I’m hurting so much, you arse?” Jaskier wasn’t crying, miraculously, but his face was red and splotchy and his eyes were watering so much that he could barely see in front of him. He sobbed and then grabbed a pillow so he could scream into it. 

Jaskier didn’t hear the window being opened, so he threw the pillow at whatever was there when he heard a, “Jaskier.”

-

Geralt didn’t try to dodge the object thrown at him and just stood there looking at Jaskier, who he’d hurt, who he’d caused to become like this through his own carelessness. Geralt’s face was full of sorrow as he stared at the bard who had finally noticed exactly who was in his room, and he opened his mouth to apologize, but Jaskier spoke first, “Get out.”

“Jas—”

“No, I don’t want to hear it. Get out.” He stood up and turned away from the Witcher as he collected all his strewn about things. The Witcher sighed and tried to convey with actions what he couldn’t with words. He went up to Jaskier and wrapped him in a hug, something that he could never recall doing but that felt so right once he did, even if Jaskier just stood there frozen.

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh, are you now? You seemed pretty sure of yourself when you told me to fuck off!” Jaskier didn’t try to push Geralt off and instead crossed his arms, never turning around to look at the other in the eye.

“I am. I am so sorry. I am the most sorry I have ever been.” He tried to sound as sincere as possible, but Jaskier wasn’t having it yet.

“The most sorry you have ever been? That’s great Geralt. I am so happy you are sorry. I forgive you.” He spit out the words with as much venom as he could muster, but Geralt was steadfast.

“I know sorry means nothing. I know it won’t fix what I ruined, but I just wanted you to know.” Geralt waited for Jaskier to say something back, and when the silence stretched out too long, he continued, “I missed you, Jaskier. I didn’t realize it, but I did. And I’m sorry it took me losing you to realize that, as well.”

“You missed having someone to look down upon?” These words were said with a tired voice, not with anger.

“No, I—” He thought for a second, “I missed your voice. I missed your smell. I missed your songs. I missed your jokes. I missed your conversation.” He buried his nose in the crook of Jaskier’s neck when he felt him relax in his embrace, “I missed all of you.”

“Geralt, I loved you. Did you know that when you said all those things to me? When you broke my heart?”

“No. I didn’t know until tonight when I heard your song.” Jaskier laughed.

“Me neither, until I sang it.” He turned around and wrapped his arms around the Witcher and pressed his forehead against his, “You were so cruel to me, Geralt. Not just then either—all the time.”

Geralt sighed and leaned into him, “I know. And that was wrong of me. And I never should have done any of that to you.” He held Jaskier’s face in his hand and looked deep into his eyes, “And I’m sorry it took me this long to realize it, but I love you, Jaskier. And I understand if you still hate me, or never want to see me again—” He was cut off as Jaskier pressed his lips to his and they both melted into the soft kiss.

“This doesn’t mean I’m not still mad at you, you know.” Geralt nodded, but he smiled anyway, “I still have a lot to pay you back for, dear Witcher.” Geralt chuckled.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way, Jaskier.” 

Jaskier gave him another tender press of the lips and said, “Julian. Call me Julian.”

“Julian,” Geralt said, holding on to him with care and affection. “I like it.”

**Author's Note:**

> i haven't written fanfiction in YEARS i can't believe the Witcher has done this to me  
> also lmao rare species? i dont know her that never happened they are still travelling together happily ok :)
> 
> :')


End file.
